


Steady

by Againstme



Category: The Adventure Zone (Podcast), The Adventure Zone : Amnesty
Genre: Canonical Character Death, Dealing with stuff, Gen, Grief/Mourning, Trans Duck Newton
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-19
Updated: 2019-07-19
Packaged: 2020-07-08 07:08:56
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,796
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19865536
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Againstme/pseuds/Againstme
Summary: “Duck,” his mother says, the word feels foreign in her voice, Duck almost doesn’t register it as his name, “I’m so glad you came.”She looks a lot older than she did before. Duck guesses he must look older now too. He looks into her eyes, and he knows the conversation they’re about to have. He knows she’ll be genuine, he knows she’ll mean her apologies. He’s not ready."Me too," he answers.





	Steady

It’s around 7 p.m. on a day in the middle of December, and, for the first time, Duck has just told Minerva that he won’t be her pawn in the crazy future she predicts. The air in the room is cold, numbing the tips of his fingers. The heating broke last week, and money’s been just a little too tight to comfortably pay to get it fixed. Duck knows he should get up and turn on the space heater in his room, but he’s laying on his bed staring up at the ceiling, considering the plastic glow-in-the-dark stars he stuck up there as a child. He knows he’s avoiding the actual questions he should be asking himself. He knows, he knows, he knows. He wonders why he hasn’t taken them down. They haven’t glowed in years, and he isn’t a child anymore. He knows it doesn’t matter, and the real issues he should be thinking about sit heavy in his chest. Duck moves his arms, ignoring the needles in his cold fingers, and crosses them over his chest, pushing everything he desperately wants to avoid down. **  
**

It’s around 11 p.m. on the last day of March, and Duck doesn’t know it yet, but, today, he saw Minerva for the last time in decades. It’s been a rough few months for everyone. They fixed the heating on the first week of March, just in time for the temperature to start rising again. Duck had a long tumultuous talk with his mother. A new inn opened, apparently unaware of the failing tourism industry in Kepler. Duck cut his hair, gave half his clothes to Jane and Juno, and slowly got used to the stares on the street and whispers in the school halls. They stopped on the second week of March, when the new gossip finally came in. It’s much more interesting to talk about the kid who disappeared in plain sight by the river. But Duck can’t think about it. Duck won’t think about it. He’s been forced to consider many things since his initial refusal in December. He’s considered things about the state of the world, about himself, about his choices. He’s made the right choices. He must have. Still he doubts.   
“Juno,” he says, knowing there’s little chance he’ll remember the conversation the next morning, “Do you think I made the right decision?”  
And Duck knows she’s just as messed up as he is right now, and Duck knows they’re not talking about the same thing, but he decides to just let her words ease all of his guilt. For now.   
“Of course you did,” she smiles at him, and the weight on Duck’s chest finally melts off, joining the snow spring has slowly been eating away.  
He wakes up the next morning, and though it’s all a blur, the heaviness hasn’t come back.

It’s around 3 p.m. on a special day in November, and Duck has just woken up from surgery. He knows already that he has no regrets about any of it. He feels like a new man. Jane is so proud of him. So is Juno. His mother is too, according to Jane. He’s a grown man, he shouldn’t be so hurt by her absence, but he is. 

It’s around 2 p.m. on a more regular day in December, and the doctor has just finished telling Duck how amazing he’s healing. A memory that’s not quite yet an old dream comes to Duck. Something about having superior protection from harm. Duck shakes the thought away, and thanks the doctor for her work before leaving.

It’s around 10 a.m. on the first weekend of May, and Duck is walking through town holding a tightly wrapped relic of his strange past in his right hand. He almost misses his destination, though the new owner has apparently made sure it’s impossible to miss. The new sign is big, and very bright. Duck’s sure Victoria would have hated it. Well, at least the guy waited six months before putting it up. Duck walks in, ignoring the exhibits, and heads straight for the main desk. The man behind it is entirely unfamiliar, Duck knows instantly he’s not from Kepler. The man starts talking, introducing himself as Ned, and starts trying to sell his museum.  
Duck interrupts him, “Sorry, I’m not here for any of the exhibits. I just heard you deal with strange objects and I have something I think you might be interested in.” He puts Beacon on the counter with a heavy thud.   
The man’s face shifts, from cheesy salesman to an unreadable half smile, “Well, what is it? Please, I’m always open to making deals, especially in regards to things directly from this beautiful town.”  
Duck pulls away the cloth tied around the sword, letting Ned eye it for a few seconds before motioning for him to inspect it more closely.   
“It’s a sword…” Duck’s mouth suddenly feels very, very dry, “that I have.”  
Ned picks it up, puts on a pair of small glasses that Duck suspects are just for show, and starts slowly inspecting Beacon, “And what’s so special about this thing?” he asks.  
“Well,” Duck swallows, biting his tongue to keep from saying anything he’ll regret, “Well, it talks sometimes.”  
It doesn’t make sense, but Duck knows it’s true. It had talked this morning when he’d taken it out of the box at the bottom of his closet. It’s the final proof that Minerva was something more than a weird side effect of teenage hormones, dysphoria, and weed. And Duck’s determined to get rid of it right now, leaving it with this stranger.  
Ned looks up at him then back down at the sword, “With the mouth?”  
“Y-yeah. Also, you’ve never seen anything like it, right?”  
The other man puts the sword back down on the counter and puts his glasses away, “Well, you’re right about that.” he pauses, finger gently tracing the sharp blade, “It actually is a real sword, huh? How much for it?”  
“Oh, you can have it for free. Consider it a donation to your museum.”  
Ned smiles, a genuine smile this time, “Why didn’t you tell me that immediately! Of course I’ll take such a fine item if it’s a donation from one of Kepler’s esteemed residents, the very generous, um, I don’t believe you’ve introduced yourself.”  
“Oh, sorry. I’m Duck Newton,” he reaches out a hand to shake Ned’s, “I’m a forest ranger.”  
“Well, it’s great to meet you Duck,” answers Ned, “and it’s even greater to humbly accept your donation to The Cryptonomica.”

It’s around 1 p.m. on the second Sunday of May, and Duck knows he’s already dreadfully late, but he’s dragging his feet anyway. He doesn’t know how his sister looped him into this. He finally pulls up in front of his childhood home. He wants to stay in the car, he wants to turn the ignition back on and drive away, he wants an escape. He wants to do the easy thing. But Jane had made him promise before leaving for her first international trip. Duck gets out of the car, locks the doors, and doesn’t even have to knock before the door is open.  
“Duck,” his mother says, the word feels foreign in her voice, Duck almost doesn’t register it as his name, “I’m so glad you came.”  
She looks a lot older than she did before. Duck guesses he must look older now too. He looks into her eyes, and he knows the conversation they’re about to have. Maybe she’ll push it back for a while, maybe she’ll wait until dessert, maybe they’ll finish eating and then she’ll ask him to stay. Duck doesn’t know her well enough anymore to know what she’ll do. But he looks in her eyes, ignoring the ache in his chest, ignoring the old wounds that never really healed opening up again, and he knows what he’ll say to her. He knows she’ll be genuine, he knows she’ll mean her apologies. He knows he won’t be able to forgive her. He’s not ready.   
“Me too,” he answers.

It’s around 7 p.m. on a hot day in July, and Duck’s looking at the sword sitting heavy in his hand. It’s still as heavy as when he’d first held it when he was a teenager, but this time there’s something different about it. He knows he’s not ready to accept the destiny Minerva’s imposing on him again. He can’t do that, even now, it’s too much for him. He’s just a regular guy. But the sword sits in his hand, steady and warm to the touch, and Duck knows that he has to at least do something. He’s never going to save the world, Duck knows that, but he can at least do some real good using Minerva’s gifts.

It’s around 2 a.m. on one of the days following Christmas, and the world somehow doesn’t make sense anymore. Duck is awake, and has been for too long now. His eyelids shut despite him, even though the light is open, even though he’s on his old couch and not in his bed, even though he desperately wants to stay awake until things start to make sense again. He never wanted Minerva’s powers. He never wanted to be some hero doomed to save the planet. Still, he finds no relief in the possibility that he doesn’t have that responsibility anymore. Sure, he’s still part of the Pine Guard and he’s going to continue that, but the pressure’s off. It all feels meaningless. The cat makes something fall in the other room, and Duck can’t remember what he was thinking about anymore. A few moments pass, and the realization of how easy it would be to kill him right now comes back to the forefront of his mind. One unlucky step, one scratch, one bite, anything, anything, anything could kill him now. His eyes close for a second and he opens them back up fifteen minutes later. He passes a hand through his tangled hair and lays down on his couch, ignoring how uncomfortable it is. He closes his heavy eyes again. He hopes Minerva’s okay. He needs Minerva to be okay. His world fades away for the night.

It’s around 4 p.m. on one of the last days of February, and Duck’s burying a friend. Not many people are here, just Aubrey, Kirby, Dani, and Barclay. He can’t really blame the other Sylfs for being absent. Being out like this with all the FBI presence around is dangerous. He sticks close to Aubrey, who’s holding Dani’s hand tight. Duck wants to cry, feels like he should be crying, but he can’t muster up any real emotion right now. Kepler’s cemetery is small. Duck’s acutely aware of how close he is to the last person he buried here. He wants to stay for a few minutes after they’ve paid their respects to Ned. He wants to tell her about what’s going on in Kepler right now. He wants to tell her about what’s going on with him right now. But then Aubrey’s hugging him, and he’s hugging her back, and there are tears in her eyes, and, finally, finally, Duck is crying too, and he knows he can’t go wandering off, even for a few minutes. He needs to stay with his friends, at least for tonight. 

It’s around 4 a.m. on the first hot day of March, and Duck is woken up by some shuffling in the living room. Since the mountain, it’s been a pretty common occurrence, between Minerva who seems to follow a different sleep cycle and some of the Sylfs who are just naturally inclined to get up at various hours of the night. He turns in his bed, ready to go back to sleep, when he hears a fumble, the breaking of glass, all followed by a soft “Fuck” which Duck recognises immediately. He sighs, silently moving out from under his covers and heads to his living room, where Aubrey is picking up pieces of glass off the floor.  
“At least use the broom,” he says, heading to the kitchen to get it.  
“It’s just for the big pieces,” she answers, but she takes the broom anyway when Duck hands it to her. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to wake you up.”  
“It’s okay, it happens.” They stay silent while Aubrey finishes cleaning up. As the last pieces of glass go in the trash, Duck speaks up again, “Are you alright?”  
“Yeah, yeah, I didn’t get cut or anything. Though we should probably pass the vacuum when everyone’s awake just for the super tiny pieces.” Duck shoots her a look, and Aubrey sighs throwing herself down on the couch next to him, “I just keep thinking about Ned.” She moves her hair out of her face, showing the tired, impossibly sad look on her face, “You know the last thing I ever said to him was essentially to fuck off and never come back to Kepler again.”  
Duck’s surprised, but it does explain the state of The Cryptonomica when they’d gone back there, “I’m sure you didn’t say it like that,” It also explains the letters he’d left both of them, Duck realizes.  
“It might as well have been. What difference does it make? He died-” Aubrey voice breaks and she closes her eyes and takes a deep breath, “Ned died thinking I wanted him gone.”  
“Did you?”  
“I don’t know. Maybe? I did before he died.”  
They stay in silence for a few more minutes, staring at the black screen of Duck’s old TV.  
“You know, Aubrey, when I came out to my mom, she took it really bad. Like, real bad. She didn’t,” Duck bites his tongue, he’s never talked about this with anyone. It’s always felt like a bit too much, but if someone’s ever going to hear him out, it’s going to be Aubrey, “She didn’t kick me out or anything, but it was rough. I went into dorms for college, and I chose not to go back to the house until a decade later. She apologized when I came back. We had lunch, we talked, she explained how she was obviously wrong. She meant every word of it. She regretted her old actions, she regretted every wrong thing she’d done to me, every wrong thing she’d said about me. I still couldn’t forgive her. I wasn’t ready.”  
“Oh,” Aubrey gasps, barely even audible in the quiet of the room.  
Duck sniffs, and wipes away the tear that had started to fall down his face, “We saw each other a little after that, Christmas dinners here and there, but nothing real. She died a few years back. She died and I hadn’t ever really forgiven her. Well, I hadn’t told her if I had anyway.”  
“I’m… sorry.” Aubrey says. There’s another pause, this one feeling even heavier than the last one. “Do you regret not telling her?”  
“Oh yeah, definitely. It’s hard, because I think that I only would have really forgiven her last month if I still could, but, man, people dying makes forgiveness way easier than it actually is.”  
“Do you think I’ll ever… I don’t know. Do you think I’ll ever stop feeling so guilty about Ned?”  
“Yeah, of course you will, Aubrey. ” Duck takes her hands in his, squeezing reassuringly, “It’s awful to live with, and maybe it’ll never be easy to think about Ned’s death, but life continues on, and your grief will slowly ease away.”  
She looks at him with her bright eyes, and Duck thinks for a second that she’s about to argue, about to tell him he’s wrong, but she just sighs, “Thanks, Duck. You’re a good friend.” She pulls her hands away from Duck’s to get a tissue, “I guess we should go back to bed now, huh?”  
“Only if you want to.”  
They watch the sunrise that morning, both smiling at the memories of Ned’s shenanigans.

It is 9:30 p.m. on the day of the apocalypse, and Duck is surrounded by friends. He’s been terrified of this moment for his entire adult life, even when he wouldn’t acknowledge it. But now that it’s here, now that he knows that every part of their plan is in place, now that there’s no choice but to face the monster that lies just beyond the gate, Duck is calm. Well, as calm as he can be anyway. He’s holding Beacon in his hand, Aubrey to his right, and Arlo to his left, and they’re waiting for it all to kick off. He takes a deep breath, and realizes, that maybe for the first time in his life, he’s ready.

He’s ready.

**Author's Note:**

> Posted first on tumblr @lightclerics  
> Hope you enjoyed!


End file.
